All That Ever Mattered
by acciokatiee
Summary: The secret relationship between District Two's famed tributes that were expected to win. Katniss and Peeta weren't the only lovers in the arena, and not all tributes are cold-hearted and ruthless. Cato/Clove, rated T because it's the Hunger Games. R&R! :
1. Chapter 1: The Reaping

Chapter 1  
><strong>Clove:<strong>  
>I look down to examine my toes, muddy and caked with dirt, peeping out of my sandals. Tears threaten me again and I look up to the ugly, gray sky to clear my eyes. I don't want to do this.<br>_But all this work for nothing?, _the part of me my father has trained questions, malice clear in my thoughts. I answer myself with a yes, because it will all go to waste if I die.  
>Since I was seven, my father has been training me to kill. Knives, wrestling, spears, you name it. We've been poor ever since my mother died, just getting by with the meager amount of money my brother makes at the blacksmith's. My father has been training me to compete (and win) in the Hunger Games. If I do win, endless fame and fortune is bestowed upon my family. If I lose, all my family loses is their hope for a better life.<br>My father is a cold, heartless man. All he wants is money, but when you're poor, your need for money is so great it doesn't become a want anymore. You only pray for enough to get you through the day. But not my father. He prays for riches beyond belief, something only a Hunger Games victor could have.  
>My eyes dart over to my father, who mouths the word <em>volunteer. <em>I manage a meager smile before I turn away again. My brother is nowhere to be seen.  
>Usually during the reaping, my plan is to let another Career hopeful yell out "I volunteer" before I can, and face the wrath of my father later. But after four years of using that technique, a flaw has formed.<br>There are no female Career hopefuls who will volunteer this year.  
>I mean, of course, in District Two you're naturally going to find some Careers, but this year, they're all too young. There's an unspoken rule in District Two that no Career hopeful under the age of fourteen (sometimes fifteen) volunteers. Oh, people don't wait because they want to keep their child at home for as long as possible- no, people here aren't that nice. They do it so they have more training under their belt when they go into the arena. My father, of course, disobeyed this rule entirely and urged me to volunteer at my first reaping. But this year the oldest Careers (besides me) are thirteen.<br>I gulp. I hope with all my might that one of the younger Careers will volunteer, or an older girl will reveal her Career status last-minute. Otherwise I have no choice.  
>I barely notice the reaping begin. Mayor Elkins begins the same old speech, and my eyes can't help but shift to Cato.<br>Cato Venir is in the same boat as I am. Both of our families forced us to become Careers against our will, and both of us barely avoid volunteering each year. Neither of us want this life, but it is the life our parents chose for us. And my best friend Cato Venir is determined to make it out alive.  
>Our eyes meet, and we share a look. He doesn't know how many female Careers are in the reaping balls this year. He doesn't know what I have to do. Luckily this year there are at least ten Careers willing to volunteer as male tribute. Cato won't have any trouble "forgetting" to volunteer. As for me...<br>I sigh, and Cato mouths _you'll be fine_ from across the square. I mouth back an _I know,_ even thought the truth is I won't. We break eye contact as Elanor Quince, our district's escort, takes center stage and begins the _actual_ reaping with a cheery "ladies first!"  
>My stomach clenches and unclenches with every step Elanor takes in those God-awful red Capitol heels towards the girls' reaping ball. I feel Cato's eyes on me, but I don't look at him. Now he knows something's up, and he looks away. I can practically see the confusion on his face. Elanor's hand grazes past almost every name in the ball before she finally picks a slip of paper. I close my eyes and the words "I volunteer" are already on my lips. But nothing prepares me for the name Elanor Quince calls, the name that tells me there's absolutely no backing out now.<br>"Clove Mapleton!"

**Cato:**  
>My mouth hangs open in shock. What were the odds that <em>Clove <em>would have gotten picked? I struggle to gather my thoughts, but something else breaks them down again.  
><em>No one is volunteering.<em>  
>So that's what was wrong. Clove knew she would have to volunteer because no one else would. I can barely catch my breath as she steps onto the stage. Before I know it Elanor Quince is holding a slip of paper from the boys' reaping ball, and I make the stupid, arbitrary desicion that shocks even me. Before she can get out the first syllable of the boy's name, I yell as loud as I can muster, "I volunteer as tribute!"<br>Clove whirls around onstage, a mixture of emotions apparent on her face. But before I can register them all, I'm being ushered up onto the stage. The other Careers whoop and holler for me, and in the moment, I embrace my newfound fame and smile at the crowd, my inner Career tribute coming out. I see Clove do the same thing beside me, and for a moment our eyes meet again. She still smiles, but behind her smile I see sorrow and rage and fear and I fully, truly realize the desicion I have just made. But my smile falters only for the quickest moment, and I let the Career in me shine until until they lead us into the Justice Building for us to say our farewells.

I slump down in my chair when I enter the Justice Building, waiting for no one, because no one will come. It's customary for the families of Career tributes to not say goodbye to their children, because they are so sure they will return. Sure enough, no one comes. Yet the Peacekeepers still make me wait the entire hour until I can board the train. I try to block out my thoughts, but eventually they creep up on me and I have no choice but to reflect on my decision.

_How could you be so stupid?_ is the question of the hour. But the best answer I can muster is Clove. She's everything to me. Our families mean nothing to us because all they want us to do is kill. I couldn't let her be whisked off to the Capitol to fight to the death. So I made the decision to come with her. Without thinking, of course. But I couldn't let her die!

Eventually I come to a crossroads. There are three options here. One: Clove dies, and I suffer. I shiver at the thought of Clove dying, but I guess it's a thought I'm going to have to get used to; it could very well happen. Two: I die... and Clove suffers. We're all each other has, but frankly I see more possibility in the second option. And option three: we both die.

I don't want to think anymore. The only thing I want to do is see Clove. To talk to her. To apologize. So I just close my eyes and wait for the Peacekeepers to come for me.

**Clove:**

They usher us into the Justice Building and into seperate rooms for us to say our goodbyes. Yet I have no one to say goodbye to, and my dad will never come. I only want to see Cato. Because he is the only one who can comfort me. Yet to my surprise, a Peacekeeper appears in the doorway, signaling a visitor to see me off. I sit up in my velvet lined armchair, curious. Was it possible that the other tributes could see each other during this hour?

But it isn't Cato. It is my brother March. My heart sinks at the sight of him. His eyes are red and wet. I stand up, my arms open, ready to embrace him. He runs into them like a scared child into their mother's arms. Despite being my older brother. I comfort him as he sobs into my shoulder.

"I don't want to lose you," He looks into my eyes, and I know I am all he has. If I die, he was to live with my father until he works up the money to move away, which could take years. Sure, he has friends, and he'll get by. But he doesn't see that. And maybe he never will.

"Don't be silly, March. I'm a Career Tribute, after all. At least I have my training."

He smiles through his tears. "I know. I know you never wanted to do this, to compete in the Games. Yet here you are, against your will. But know that at least I'm here to cheer you on." We pull away and for a moment our eyes are locked on each other. The look that passes between us speaks volumes words never could, and we both know that whatever happens, we'll be fine. In one way or another, time heals everything. No matter how long it may take.

The Peacekeeper at the door clears his throat, which means it's time for March to leave. We hug each other tightly, one last time, he plants a kiss on my forehead, salty tears hitting my hairline, and then he's gone, out like a light.

I stand there for a moment, my mind as blank as a slate. The Peacekeeper pushes on the small of my back, pushing me to go forward. Every bone in my body screams for me to resist, but I go forward, almost in defeat.


	2. Chapter 2: The Train

OK: so this is going to be quite a long author's note.

Firstly: Regarding Cato & Clove being out of character. I do understand that in the first chapter both Cato and Clove were VERY OOC. I apologize, but I felt like in the Hunger Games, Cato (and a little bit of Clove)'s contrasting personality between caring for their other tribute and also being very mean-hearted and bloodthirsty was a little mysterious, which ultimately sparked this fanfiction. I wish I could've incorporated both emotions into Chapter 1, but I wanted that chapter to be solely the exposition, and set everything up for the main character building and the Games themselves.

I also wanted to delve into the life of a Career Tribute in this fanfic, which is why Cato & Clove are so OOC in regards to their Career status. I felt like it was very difficult (for me at least) to believe that kids would just give up their lives without a thought, especially in the richer districts, just for fame and fortune, so I kind of came up with my own excuse :). I'm not at all saying that it's right, or that is what Suzanne Collins implied, because that is not at all true (by my knowledge). So to sum this all up, the way the characters should be interpreted in relation to this fanfic is having an outer shell that is being a Career Tribute (which will show A LOT more when the games begin), and they're really just as scared (and caring, loving, etc.) as the rest of the tributes in the Games.

Last thing- almost- is sorry about the wait. There's no excuse for the long wait for this chapter, so I won't give you one. I'll be writing a lot more during spring break next week, and I plan to get at least two more chapters written before school starts again, but we'll see how that goes.

Also something I forgot last chapter (but applies to that chappie as well): I don't own the Hunger Games, only the characters I invent :)

Sorry about the long author's note. I'll leave the rest of the A/N for next chapter, the unimportant stuff. Please forgive me. Anyway, enjoy Chapter Two!

Chapter 2:Clove

As I exit the Justice Building, I see Cato boarding the train just up ahead. Cameras flash and I put my Career face on again, beaming at every single one, trying my best to look casual, as if I hadn't just been sentenced to my death.

Finally I enter the train and the smooth metal door closes behind me. My Career facade melts away almost instantly. I see Cato standing next to a red velvet sofa, and our mentors, Brutus and Enobaria, are standing about listening to Elanor talk about the events in the days to come. We all look bored; as Careers, Cato and I have been forced to memorize the schedule of a tribute leading up to the Games, and of course Brutus and Enobaria have done this countless times before. Throughout Elanor's little debrief, Cato and I exchange glances. I can see in his eyes he wants so badly to talk to me. I shoot him a look that assures us the feeling is mutual.

Eventually Elanor finishes her speech and Brutus and Enobaria are released to their rooms, but motions for us to follow her. Her white-blond bleached hair swings back and forth across her back as she leads us to our rooms.

We have our own train car, with our own individual bedrooms and bathrooms, and a main sitting room with a wallscreen where I presume we'll be watching the other reapings later on today, possibly tomorrow. Elanor designates whose room is whose and then she's on her way, reminding us in her airy Capitol accent that dinner is in four hours.

The door closes, and finally, Cato and I are alone.

I see him struggling for words, gesturing with his hands as he tries to speak. "God, Clove. I'm... I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking... your name, in the reaping ball, no volunteers... and dammit Clove, you may be a Career tribute, but I can't let you do this on you own!" By the end of his rant, tears are threatening to spill down his face, which is so very unusual for Cato Venir, and it's becoming hard for him to keep it together. Throughout the whole thing I am whispering "I know" under my breath. I don't know if he can hear it or not, but it doesn't matter because a minute later an idle thought is suddenly front and center in my mind, and I know what to do to make things alright, even just for now.

I crush my lips against Cato's.

Cato:

Here I am, alone with Clove in our train car's sitting room, blubbering like a baby to her, and none of the words are coming out right, which makes me feel even worse, and I'm on the edge of losing it, when, out of nowhere, Clove crosses the few feet between us and starts to kiss me, and suddenly all I'm thinking about is Clove Mapleton.

It's been a dormant thought inside both of our minds for years. We had even talked about it, just for a few minutes. It's like a volcano: a benign thought that could either erupt, or stay unnoticed. But suddenly, my harmless volcano thought is exploding and erupting in all parts of my mind.

Our kiss seemed to be too short, yet too long; it may have lasted seconds, or minutes, but when Clove pulls away, tucking a lock of her wavy, chestnut hair behind her ear, her sparkling brown eyes that shine like amber peeking at me from under her darkened eyelashes, I am speechless.

We sit down on the sofa together, absorbed in our own thoughts. So much has happened today. Too much. I want to sleep, but fear of the Games, and losing Clove, keeps me awake. Yet I want to stay awake, stay with Clove, and explore this newfound feeling, but the day's events have plunged me into drowsiness. I review the day in my head, and almost shiver. Could anything go more wrong, and more right, in a span of less than 24 hours?

I turn away from those thoughts and focus on Clove. Her beautiful amber eyes are closed, her head leaned back against my arm, her long brown hair draped over her shoulder, the soft rise and fall of her chest, her pale arms slung across my torso, her rosy red lips pursed somewhere in between a smile and a frown.

I sigh and close my eyes, leaning my head back, and try not to think about the fact that at least one of us has to die. I try not to think about how in the morning, we will be in the Capitol, getting ready for the opening cermony. I try to block out every thought in my head, but one remains: Clove.

Clove:

I wake up next to Cato, still on the sofa. His eyes are closed and it's obvious he is sleeping. I smile up at him, then carefully ease out of his arms to shower before they serve supper. He barely stirs and I tiptoe into my bathroom before Cato can notice I am gone.

I undress and pick a random shower setting: Lavender soap and shampoo with one of the hottest water temperatures. I step in quickly and wash myself. I let myself become lost in the flaming water, each droplet a expolding meteorite on my tired skin. Minutes later I finish and step out to dry off, barely stopping to dry my hair. There are some fresh clothes set out for me next to the sink: A emerald green sleeveless dress made of some gauzy, loose, thin cloth and some sandals. I quickly slip the dress on after my undergarments, and smile tentatively in the mirror before stepping outside.

Cato is gone, but I hear rummaging in his own room. I sit down on the sofa, unsure of what else to do. I cross my arms and examine a tiny woven bracelet I got from Cato when we first met. The second time I saw him, he gave me the tiny bracelet. When I asked him why he had done such a nice thing after knowing me for such little time, he just smiled and said it was because I was pretty. At the time I just laughed it off, but ever since then the faded red of the bracelet has been my favorite color.

The next day Cato's family began to train him for Career status.

It was the last day I ever truly saw him...happy. After that it was all just a mixture of anger and frustration and defeat. Like the rest of the children in District 2.

All he would ever talk about was how much he hated the Capitol and District 2 and his parents. I would just smirk and give the occasional nod or "Oh, really?" before he began to rant again. But I never minded. Being with someone who felt the same way I did was the only thing I wanted out of District 2 when I was younger, but as time progressed, I couldn't talk about it with anyone else but Cato.

But, you see, that's the thing about Career tributes: they are so tired of being trained to kill, that they take it out on other tributes in the Games. They embody the people they didn't want to be when they first began training. Next to no one wants to train to kill when they first start. But by the end, they are so tired of it all that they're ready for it to be over. The light at the end of the tunnel.

The reaping.

So they volunteer, do their dirty work, and either die... or survive, and live in endless riches.

And now it's Cato's and my turn.

There are, of course, a few heartless Careers to thrive on killing. There's a boy I know, who used to be in my class at school, who every day, after training or school, he'd sit on the shore of the lake and spear every apple on a tree, spot on. Then, in celebration of his hits, he'd throw an axe at the tree until it fell over. He wore the same insane smile every day he did it, and you knew he was thinking of the Games when he speared those apples, destroyed the tree. Eventually he went on to become a victor, but the Capitol took him in and questioned his sanity after he'd won, and we never saw him again.

Cato emerges from the room wearing a collared shirt of the same emerald color as my dress, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular arms, and some grey slacks and loafers. I want to giggle; this is probably the most formal he's ever looked.

He shrugs. "I didn't know dinners on the train were so proper."

I can't help but laugh. "Oh, you know how the Capitol is. _everything_is formal."

Cato can't help but join in on my criticism of the Capitol. "Of course it is."

He holds out his elbow, and I rest my hand on it, barely linking arms. I can already see Elanor talking excitedly to a bored-looking Enobaria. Cato and I just barely catch the tail end of their conversation as we enter.

"Yes, yes, they've just finished the reaping at District 1- they're the last this year, their airhead of an escort Silner Boist decided he'd arrive at the last minute- come to think of it, I did see him _quite_ intoxicated last night at the escorts party Ceasar threw, bless him, the socialite- oh, and here they come now!" Elanor flashes an irritatingly blinding smile at the pair of us.

I crack a tight-lipped smile, while Cato exudes cockiness- and there we are, already in a Career mindset that I doubt we'll ever get out of. The focused, seemingly innocent girl who, once the Capitol meets her, has quite a thing for killing, and the cocky leader of the pack on a devout mission.

I take my seat next to Cato and pick up my spoon at the same time Elanor does. I've known tributes who have been banished from dinners because of their manners. I feel bad for the escorts in districts eleven and twelve, the impoverished districts. The districts where tributes get sick during the parade because of eating such rich Capitol food.

I scoop some stew onto my spoon and take a small sip. It tastes disgusting. Lamb stew with dried plums. I start to push it away, but Elanor gives me a look with fire in her eyes, a look that screams that if I push my bowl even an inch away from me, I will never see the light of day. Ignoring the fact that my days could still be numbered nonetheless, I continue to spoon more and more terrible stew into my mouth in very tiny bites.

"So," Cato begins the conversation. "Where's Brutus?"

"He had some business to attend to in another district." Enobaria said curtly, obviously displeased.

"What was it?" I finally speak up.

"You really should not be minding." Elanor cuts Enobaria off before she can begin to explain, just as curt as our mentor was.

Enobaria rolls her eyes and leans closer towards us. "But if you two really must know..."

"Enobaria!" Elanor gasps, scolding her. She continues anyways.

"...President Snow was overseeing the Reaping in District 11 this year, due to an outcry last year, and Brutus was summoned by him. That's as much as I know." Satisfied, she straightens her back again and finishes her stew as if she hadn't spoken a word.

Elanor looks absolutely cross and refuses to speak for the rest of the meal.

"Funny," Cato shrugs. "I never felt the train stop."

"That's the thing about Capitol trains." Enobaria speaks again. "It could stop in every district and you'd never even know."

"So," Cato pushes away his half-empty bowl and reaches for a potato roll garnished with spices, ignoring Elanor's malicious look. "The Reapings are next?"

Enobaria nodded solemnly. "You're good. Quick."

He shrugged again. "I want to strategize."

Enobaria wiped her mouth clean of broth and stood up from the table. Cato and I mirrored her, and Elanor tagged behind irritably, as if she had a thorn in her side.

We all took a seat in the room with the wallscreen: Enobaria sitting absentmindedly on a green armchair, Elanor sitting stiffly in a white, uncomfortable-looking oblong bubble chair, and Cato and I settled into a cushy red loveseat, our intertwined hands stuffed into the couch cushions.

The anthem plays for only a few seconds before District 1's crest is displayed, the cheers of hundreds of Career hopefuls echoing in the background. I swallow the bile in the back of my throat with great difficulty. Cato squeezes my hand and shoots me a look from the corner of his eye.

I have heard that District 1 has much more enthusiastic tributes. They are the ones who don't have to hide their hate for the Capitol and their Games.

After the Capitol's presentation, a flamboyant man dressed in citrus colors whom I assume to be Silner Boist reaps a tiny redheaded boy, but a volunteer arises, a blond boy almost as arrogant as Cato pretends to be. His name is Marvel. Later a flirty girl with blonde pigtails volunteers before Silner opens the slip of paper for the girls, and says her name is Glimmer.

I scoff. "District 1 names are worse than the Capitol's."

Cato echoes my tiny laugh with a much bigger one, one that fills up the room. Arrogance.

Next our reaping comes up. To my relief, I don't seem too awfully taken aback when my name is called, and I keep a smile during the entire reaping. Cato, when he first volunteers, has a hard time masking his shock, but he manages to compose herself by the time he's onstage. I can hear him curse himself under his breath. I squeeze his hand and shush him quietly. "You'll be fine." I whisper quiet enough so only he can hear. Enobaria and Elanor don't even notice our exchange.

The rest of the reapings go by uneventfully. The only people I notice are a burly man I'm surprised is young enough to be reaped from District 7, the boy from District 11, another huge older boy, and the girl from District 12: a lanky brunette who volunteered for her sister. Being the first volunteer of District 12 is the only redeeming quality she displays. The rest seem easy to kill.

The wallscreen switches off by itself after bleating the anthem of Panem. A moment later, it switches back on with Ceasar Zimmerman and Claudius Templesmith's commentary, mindless chat that happens after every major event in the process leading up to the Hunger Games.

Enobaria touches a button on the sleek remote built into the end table, and the wallscreen blinks off for good. She turns to us, raises her eyebrow. "So?" she challenges us. "Any conclusions? Observations? Strategies?"

Cato speaks up. "We have to team up with the District 1 Tributes, form the Career alliance."

"I wouldn't be so quick, Cato." I interject. "There have been weak Careers in the past."

"But they did volunteer." Cato challenged me. "They have to be good."

"They could've been bluffing."

"You both have good points." Enobaria concluded. "It's a good idea to guess the strength and skill of each tribute now, but don't jump to conclusions. Wait until training to secure your alliances."

"The boys from 7 and 11 were huge. They could be a threat later on. They need to die first." I point out.

"Good point." Cato praises me. "But then again, they may not know how to use their strength. They are from poorer districts. They could be another easy kill. Or we could let them into the alliance."

"Whatever we do with them, we can't leave them alone." I conclude.

Enobaria praises us in turn for our strategies, and agrees with us. But she adds that we "may want to keep an eye on the District 12 girl". I hold back a laugh and respect my mentor's opinion, wondering what kind of skill the girl holds. Just wait until training, I tell myself.

We say goodnight to Enobaria and Elanor ("Don't forget breakfast tomorrow, at 9 o' clock sharp, and then the cab ride to the training center, make sure you dress accordingly, and then the meetup with your designers...") and finally Cato and I are alone.

I breathe a sigh of relief when the doors close, and Cato and I excavate our hands from the cushions to embrace.

"It's been a long day." Cato murmurs into my ear. "You should sleep."

"You too." I murmur right back. "I'm not the only one who's had a long day."

We pull apart and stare at each other for the shortest moment. Then I duck my head and look at my toes again, just as I did this morning. This morning. It seems like ages ago. I try to remember back to yesterday, but it seems impossible. Cato touches my wrist, where the bracelet is, the red bracelet he gave me all those years ago. He smirks. "You still have this?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

He grimaces.

"Cato, just because we've been reaped, it doesn't change anything, for now, at least. It doesn't change anything between us. I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die, but I don't know what else to do. These are the cards we were dealt, and we have to work with what we have. Listen," I took his face, which had fallen, his eyes at his toes, and held it back up. "We can't grieve over this. It'll make us weaker. We have to be strong. We're _Careers,_for God's sake. We've got to do this."

Cato nodded. "You're right. We have to be Careers."

I smiled, sadly, almost. "I love you, Cato."

He looked at me, square in the face. "For how long?"

"Since the day I met you."

"Why?"

"Because you were my dandelion in the spring."

Sorry about the sappiness at the end! I tried to make this chapter less out of character, but I couldn't help put the sweetness in. It probably won't get worse than that. Also, sorry for lack of Cato. He'll show up more during training and at the end of the Games. Anywho, hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading :) xoxo


	3. Chapter 3: Meeting the Capitol

**I don't own the Hunger Games. :)**

Chapter 3:Cato

The next morning the train arrives for the swarming Capitol citizens surrounding the station, waving to the windows. I watch them as they cheer for the incoming tributes, huge grins on their faces. I turn to Enobaria, who is beginning breakfast without Clove. "How tinted are these windows?"

"Don't worry, they can't see you." Enobaria confesses, barely looking up from a strawberry onion flatbread. I nod, observing the Capitol from my window. The attire is worse than I had expected: people wear every shade of every color on every part of their body, not just clothes. I turn away at the sound of footsteps from the hallway, signaling Clove's entry.

She hurries in on light feet, barely stopping at the table to sit down. "Sorry I'm late," She apologizes curtly, picking up a bowl of salted starfruit. "I overslept."

"No matter," Elanor speaks before I can. "We've still got a few more platforms to go before we arrive. Then we'll be taking a cab to the Training Center."

"Aren't you going to eat, Cato?" Clove asks. It seems nonchalant on the surface, but when she looks up at me I can see the concern in her eyes.

"I'm not hungry." I shrug. "Plus I was waiting for you."

Elanor shoves a plate of bacon and hash browns towards my place at the table without looking up. She doesn't need to tell me to eat in order to pass on the message. I abandon my spot at the window and take my seat, munching on the bacon reluctantly. Elanor looks satisfied enough, and Clove does, too, although she still has a hint of worry in the back of her eyes, but I don't think it has to do with me being hungry.

Finally, the rush of eager Capitol citizens fades, and the train station appears outside, sleek and metal just like the outside of the train. I would call it empty, if it weren't for the hoards of Capitol press crowding the glass door that seperated this station from the rest of the city. I almost cringe, but a Career smile replaces it. "That's it?" I scoff. "I'd thought there'd be more to say hello. Sure, maybe not so many people would show for, say, a District 12 tribute, but a _Career_? This seems a little skimpy." Each word stings coming from my mouth, but the more I speak the more I can forget about what I'm saying.

Enobaria almost scoffs in response, but I hear her stop herself. "Well, you can bet there's more where they come from. You should see the crowds during the parades. It gets worse." And with that, she slides out of her chair, Elanor close on her heels, and starts for the train door.

There's no more practice for becoming a Career now. Everything I do from here on out will count either for or against me. The world is watching now. And I can't turn a blind eye to that.

"Ready?" I whisper to Clove, who is across the room. She is staring out to the mob of citizens and press in half awe, half fear. She doesn't think she is ready, but I know she is. She is more ready than she thinks. As much as she doesn't want to be this person, it's not an option. I hold out my hand, but she shakes her head.

Elanor pokes her head out from behind the door. "Chop, chop! We haven't got all day!" And she's right. People will wonder why the District 2 tributes are taking so long to leave their train. So I motion for Clove to step in front of me, mouthing _ladies first_ with a cocky smile, and she does, absentmindedly fingering the faded red bracelet she got from me all those years ago.

I don't need to see her depart from the train to know she has left; the muted roars of the Capitol citizens confirm it for me. I know that I am next when those same roars die down, expecting the male tribute now. So I round the corner, leaving behind all thoughts of home and the person I was, the person I used to be, and satisfy the crowd of people surrounding the station with District Two's seventy-fourth male tribute.

Clove:

I wince for what is hopefully the final time as the yellow-haired lady plucks at the outside of my eyebrows. She smiles down at me, pleasantly, and says "All done!" before putting her tweezers someplace I cannot see. "I'll go get Arven, tell him you're ready." She motions for the rest of the prep team to follow her out: a blue-skinned man with off-white hair, and a superskinny woman with sharpened features and fiery straight orange hair that runs down to her thighs and moves even when she is still.

I assume Arven is my stylist; who else would visit me at this time? I am trying to ignore the choking scent of burnt hair and lemon exfoliant when the man I make to be Arven bursts through the door. He has a grin that reminds me of Caesar Flickerman: kind and open, but still slightly knowing and closed-minded at the edges. He sticks out his hand for me to shake, and I take it warily.

"I'll be your stylist for the Games. Celestine, my assistant, will be helping with your partner, Mr. Venir."

Arven seems like a person I can trust. I don't need to be a Career tribute around him. After all, I tell myself after a moment, all he'll be doing is designing my outfits for the parade and the interview. What on Earth could he reveal about me?

I shrug. "So. What am I going to wear?" The pickings don't look good for Cato and I. Usually the stylists dress the tributes from our district in baggy Peacekeeper uniforms, because of our training facilities. But today, Arven shakes his head with a smirk.

"I know what you're expecting, Clove, but this year I've been thinking of something a little more... flattering." Arven smirks at the end of his sentence.

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh, really? And what do you have in mind?"

Arven shrugs. "Well, really, it's not much. Kind of plain. Just changing up the original design a bit." He smiles. "After all, what do you need a good costume for? You two are _Career_Tributes, for God's sake. Why on Earth do you need sponsors?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Oh, you have so much faith in me."

He holds his hands in front of him in mock defense, a laugh on his lips. "Hey, I'm just stating the facts. Besides, most people bet on Careers before they even begin training. Getting sponsors isn't much harder."

Arven has a point, and I decide not to protest. After all, what good would it do? The outfits have already been made, collecting dust in a closet, probably somewhere just outside. I don't care much, anyways. At this point all I want is for both Cato and I to make it out alive, but that's too much to ask for.

I push my thoughts aside and focus on tonight, pulling my Career act together again. "So, are you just gonna stand there looking pretty or show me what I'm wearing?"

Arven steps out for a minute only to arrive again with a long, blindingly-white dress that does infact remind me of a Peacekeeper uniform. It has a silver zipper all the way down, and looks very heavy-duty, as if you really could defend a district in such attire. Instead of the Capitol seal usually stamped on the helmets of the uniforms, a red District 2 seal replaced it in the form of a pin on my dress, just below my collarbone.

Arven was right: it is a little plain. But it will work. I don't care what I dress in: as long as it appeals to the Capitol citizens. This should: I mean, it represents our district. And in the end, it's what happens in the arena that counts. NOT the clothes you wear.

Arven steps outside to check on Cato and Celestine and gives me some privacy to change. I quickly slip out of the sorry excuse for clothes the prep team demanded I change into and slip into the dress. After zipping it up just enough I twirl around, looking down at it. Arven did well; it looks lovely.

Minutes later Arven comes back again with a shoebox, and from it produces a pair of simple white heels the Capitol will never see; my feet will be hidden from view behind the front of the chariot. It's better than the chunky Peacekeeper boots, though. I slip those on too, with difficulty, and finally, after Arven hooks some diamond droplet earrings into my ears and fastens a similar necklace around my neck, silently ignoring the woven bracelet clinging to my wrist, he pushes my shoulders so that I stand in the reflection of the mirror.

I look exceptional. The prep team curled my wavy hair and applied a thick layer of liner to my eyes, and the jewelry Arven added looks dazzling. Everything fits together perfectly. I remind myself of some of the Capitol pageant girls that you see on the television on occasion. I turn around and smile at Arven. "Thank you."

"For what?" He chuckled. "You're the one who's pretty, not the clothes."

I look down, chuckling at my feet, and somewhere in the back of my head I am cursing myself for being so out of Career character, even if it is just Arven.

"Well this dress isn't going to have sponsors lining up around the block, but once you get your training scores, they'll be sure to bet their money on you and Cato."

"Again, you have too much faith in me."

"It's hard not to have faith in Careers."

He pushes on the small of my back, ushers me to the door. "Come, now. Cato and Celestine should be ready by now."

I step outside to see Cato waiting impatiently next to the door. He is dressed in a white suit similar to the uniforms of the Peacekeepers, the same District 2 seal pinned on his lapel in lieu of a flower. He smiles just for a second, and I smile back. It's an unspoken compliment between the two of us.

The elevator door opens and the four of us enter, Arven pressing the button signaling the basement, and we ride down together.

Cato:

When the doors open again all of the walls are made of concrete, and 12 black chariots are lined up against the wall, identical except for the numbers painted delicately on the side. Only one other pair of districts, District 1, is in the expansive garage, and a slew of Avoxes polishing chariots and repainting numbers. Celestine and Clove's stylist, who I assume to be Arven, push us toward our chariot, but I have other things on my mind. I make a beeline for the tributes from District 1, and Clove is just a step behind me.

I stop when I reach their chariot, and the two of them, looking bored while their stylists make the finishing touches on their outfits, look up abruptly, a question forming on their faces. I lean up against the side of the chariot, and Clove crosses her arms.

The boy steps forward, a smirk on his face. "And what do you two want?"

I scoff. "What do you think? No one else is around, we're the only Career districts in the Games, and you two seem to possess some sort of skill in the Arena."

The girl grins, showing all of her teeth. "Look at that, can't even get through the first day and the tributes are already lining up, asking for alliances."

I can see Clove tense next to me. "Hey, the only reason we're teaming up with you is because we're the best tributes that'll be out there."

The boy shrugs, considering this. "True." He sticks out his hand to me. "Marvel. That's Glimmer."

I hold back a snicker. "We already know your names. We've actually been strategizing, while you two have been... whatever people from your district do. Polishing your shoes, faffing about."

Marvel glares at both of us but lets it go.

Clove smirks in triumph. "Clove and Cato from District 2."

Arven and Celestine call us over, and I realize during the span of our short conversation the tributes from 3, 4, 5, and 6 have entered the garage basement, and the elevator was just opening to reveal District 7. Any minute and the parade would officially begin.

Clove clambers into the chariot after me, lifting up her dress and nearly tipping over in her heels. I begin to lean forward to help her in, but I see Glimmer and Marvel giving the pair of us a snide look from inside their chariot, so I stop myself before my hand lifts out to her, remembering my Career facade.

One of the walls opens up to reveal a long stretch of pavement, and the noise of millions of Capitol citizens floods the room, echoing against the concrete parade has officially begun.

District 1's chariot begins to pace up the pavement, and you know they have hit the Capitol's line of sight when the roar of the crowd becomes almost deafening. I see, out of the corner of my eye, the tributes from District 12, looking wary and uneasy, exiting the elevator just as our chariot lurches forward.

"What's our strategy?" Clove whispers into my ear as we cross over the threshold of the garage.

I think quickly. "Hold my hand to show them we're an alliance. But keep your Career stance in mind." It's scary just how much I sound like a mentor, or some sort of seasoned Career, but I can't let it get to me now. Clove nods in response, her grip on my hand tightening, and she goes stone-faced.

I quickly slap on an arrogant smile, push away queasy thoughts, and greet the screaming Capitol with a wave, as I hear Claudius Templesmith announce: "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome the tributes from District 2, _Clove Mapleton and Cato Venir!_"

**Okay, I do understand the parade outfits are not the same as they were in the book/movie. But I wanted it to be a little more original than a Gladiator costume. I didn't get that, sorry. Feel free to hate me for the time being. Anyways. Thanks for reading! :)**


	4. Chapter 4 Training

**A/N: So it's a little late. About 2 months late. But don't worry! With summer comes many long days consisting of lots of writing. So hopefully this baby is finished by the end of summer/early school. Also, I have parentlock now, which was a big distraction. I do hope you understand.**

**Also, I am going to admit, this is going to be a bit of a slow chapter. I don't even know why I'm giving this whole thing a whole chapter. Whatever. Enjoy. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**ALSO, last thing; I didn't read this for mistakes, and my ever-faithful beta reader is not being very faithful at the moment, so please excuse any mistake. Thanks lovies **

Chapter 4:**Clove**

I let out a scream of frustration and slam down the remote, leaning into the sofa and crossing my arms, pouting. "Those tributes from District 12 stole the show, without question!"

Cato walks in at the last minute, catching the tail end of my rant. "Whoa, whoa, calm down. What makes you think that?"

I scoff. "Why _shouldn't _I think that? The crowd at the Parade wasn't cheering so loud near the end for nothing. I knew something was up. People_never _cheer for the poorer districts like that! And now look. It's all over the news!" I thrust a shaking finger towards Caesar Flickerman's round face, rattling off about District 12.

Cato takes a seat close beside me, leaning forward in focus. And then the tape comes on. District 12's chariot rounds the corner and is thrust into Capitol spotlight, glowing. The tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are wearing black bodysuits made of a material that reminds me of snakeskin, but the thing is, they're on _fire_. Literally.

I watch Cato's mouth drop to the floor, leaning back into the sofa. "Well, I can see why the Capitol liked them."

I slap him on the arm. "Cato! This is _serious. _Do youhave any idea how many sponsors we're going to lose because of this? Arven said it was going to be easy getting sponsors because of our district, but not with them parading around like that."

Cato scoffs. "They're not going to win."

I roll my eyes. "Well, it's obvious they're at least going to make a statement in these Games."

Now I know what Enobaria meant when she told Cato and I to look out for District 12. Somehow she knew these two would have an impact. They just... _seemed _different_. _

"_Well," _Cato announces to the room, stretching such that he took up every inch of the lime sofa, pushing me to the very end with only inches of room, "I'm going to bed. It's been a long day, and when training starts, they're going to get even longer. We're going to need all the sleep we can get these next few days."

"I second that." I exaggerate my yawn, and start heading towards my bedroom, which is opposite Cato's. The setup of our floor of the TrainingCenter is not much different from that of the train: Cato's and my bedroom facing each other, a bathroom in between, a sitting area with a glass wall instead of a digital one, and a seperate dining room, with a wall blocking the two rooms. As Cato and I start towards our rooms, Elanor notices us through the open door, and waves us goodnight, then continues her dinner with Enobaria and Brutus, who had been waiting for us here.

And that's the closest Cato and I will get to a "good night" from our superior.

I begin to open the door to my room when Cato grabs my wrist, his other hand on the doorknob of his own quarters. He doesn't need to tell me he wants to talk to me. Alone. In his bedroom.

I sigh, release my grasp from the doorknob, and quickly and silently slip into Cato's room. He follows me, closing the door the moment his foot crosses the threshold.

When the door is finally shut, he pauses for a moment, and turns around slowly, making a squeaking noise as the floor grinds at his rubber shoes. He takes his time meeting eyes with me, and when he does, his eyes, as expected, are a melting pot of emotions I cannot decipher in time, because he blinks, and his blue orbs are a blank stone slate.

"How do you feel?"

I want to laugh. "Cato, I feel fine. Why are you asking?"

"I just want to make sure you're alright."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that in a few days, maybe weeks, because one of us will be-" And that's all I get to say, because Cato takes my wrists, both of them, with his hands and when I look up his eyes are fire.

"Clove Mapleton. It is too soon to talk about death."

"We've only got a week until that arena, Cato. And the worst thing we can do right now is pretend like neither of us will die."

"Clove!"

"Don't you 'Clove' me! Yes, at least one of us will not come out alive, but that's how it works in Panem. That's life."

"That is not _life. _No one should have to unwillingly sacrifice their life to make Capitol pigs happy, under any circumstances. This is inhumane and it's wrong."

"Well, Cato, it's nice to know you think that way, I'm sure all of the districts do, but there's nothing about it that we can change. The Capitol has set these rules, and we are a part of Panem. We _must _follow their rules. They don't care if you don't like it. Infact, coming from District Two, they expect you to love it. You were born to die, Cato."

His eyes meet mine, and I can see his emotions showing again; slowly, then all at once. His hand reaches for mine, and I take it firmly, securely. He doesn't know that no matter what happens, things will be fine. He hasn't come to terms with the fact that we can't stay like this. He may be strong, but not strong enough. So yes, I so hold his hand. I let him stand there, motionless, staring into my eyes, pouring his feelings into me.

We've done it again. Switched ourselves arounnd. We've been going back and forth this whole time, during this whole period before the Games. First, at the actual reaping itself, I didn't know how I was going to do it, how I was going to survive these Games emotionally, even with Cato. Then, on the train, Cato was as lost as I had been, and somehow I had been there for him, through my panic, my initial fear. Again, leaving the train, the Capitol had intimidated me, but Cato told me, even if it was just through his eyes, that it was fine. That it was all going to be okay.

And here we are, doing it again.

**Cato:**

I wake to find my room empty, and the shower in the next room running. The smell of lavender fills my nostrils, and I sigh, collapsing back onto my mattress. But I can barely continue my slumber before I hear the _click-clack _of Elanor's heels, coming towards my door.

I jump up, crossing the room and pulling out every drawer in my dresser, but all are empty. Finally I notice a black shirt with matching pants sitting on the foot of my bed. I scramble to dress, and Elanor opens the door just as I am finishing with pulling on my shirt.

She smiles just a little too brightly, scanning my disheveled demeanor in disdain. "I assume you're ready for breakfast, dear?"

I nod slowly, taking a deep breath as I follow Elanor to the dining room.

Brutus and Enobaria are sitting quietly, a certain kind of tension brewing between the two as each swirls a cup of broccoli soup around with their spoons. Celestine and Arven are joking over a shared blueberry croissant, Celestine's head thrown back mid-laugh while Arven snorts into his coffee.

I take a seat and Elanor slides a plate of assorted meats and cheeses my way, accompanied with a tiny loaf of bread and a jacket potato. I give her a questioning look and almost scoff. "I can't eat all this."

She smiles, tight-lipped. "Well, honey, you don't have much of a choice. You may be from one of the strongest districts in Panem, but you've still got to put some more meat on. Plus, you'll want to eat quite a bit with all of the training you'll be doing."

I sit down glumly and start in on my breakfast, occasionally eyeing the door to the dining room, hoping Clove will come any minute so we can strategize with Brutus and Enobaria. Instead I'm stuck with the playful banter of Celestine and Arven, and the occasional mutter from our mentors. Elanor has abruptly left the room and fled to her own chambers, probably to fix her makeup or hair or change into yet another outfit.

Finally, with wet hair tied up into a ponytail and a matching training outfit, Clove rushes into the dining hall, her cheeks slightly pink as she takes a seat next to me. I shove her my unfinished meat plate and the rest of my bread, and she shovels it down quickly. No one notices.

Finally, Elanor Quince reenters the room, says good morning to Clove and asks if she had a good sleep (she lies and says she did), and then ushers us all down to the elevator to the underground Training Center.

On the ride down, Brutus and Enobaria ask us what good strategies might be: do we show off, or hide our skills, save them for the Games? Eventually Clove speaks up with her signature Career smirk, saying: "Please. We shouldn't have to hide our skills. We're ten times better than all of the other tributes in these Games. Why should we give them false hope that they might have a chance of winning?"

However astounded Brutus and Enobaria look, they agree, and when the elevator doors open to display the training floor, the three of them all but push us out, hastily waving goodbye as the elevator doors close again.

Clove and I turn around, slowly, on the balls of our feet, to observe the training floor, and find it completely empty: not even Atala, the traininginstructor, is around, and the viewing area where the Gamemakers sit is being cleaned and prepared by Axoves too consumed in their work to notice us enter.

"Of course." I roll my eyes. They wanted us to get here early so we can practice for training, get warmed up, if you will." I begin to spin around on my heel and walk towards the training equipment to pick out a sword, but Clove grabs my arm, stopping me. It reminds me of last night, right before she was about to exit to her room, so much it's almost spooky.

"Did Elanor find out about...?" Clove doesn't need to finish her sentence for me to know what she's talking about.

I shake my head, solemnly. "Thankfully, no. But she doesn't need to either. The Capitol doesn't need to know about... us. It'll make us look weaker."

Clove sighs in response, and releases my arm, starting toward a rack of knives. I can already see her Career side showing in her stride, the way her hands are clenched, fingernails digging into her palms, her back ramrod straight. I find a sword concealed behind a medicine ball and start towards a dummy opposite Clove, and go to town on it.

It feels good, in a way. It feels good in a way I have never really noticed before. Before I was reaped, the only stress I had to deal with was impressing my father, and even now I feel it, stronger than ever, as if he's right behind me, critiquing my every move. No, this stress is different. Very different.

I never thought I would get reaped. And _never _in my wildest dreams did I think I'd actually volunteer. When I recognized how Clove would cheat herself out of the reaping, I tagged right along, waiting a second too long to call out the words "I volunteer!". And I thought it would work.

But crazy things happened, and now here I am, whacking the life out of a plastic doll with a target on its head. _Just like there's a target on mine, and Clove's, _a voice chimes in the back of my head, _and twenty-two other people._

Eventually the training center begins to fill up. In my peripheral vision I see Marvel begin to thrust spears into the cobalt blue doll's heart just a few feet away, and a few stations over Glimmer aims a bow and arrow at a bright red bullseye. I try to focus on the sword, but eventually I can't help but size up every tribute that walks through the door: a small, freckled boy, a tall, pale girl with fiery red hair propped up in two small buns on either side of her head, and eventually, the two tributes, the lanky, taller brunette, and the shorter, blonder, stockier one, with the softer face. I try to ignore them, but knowing they are there, knowing that every tribute is watching me, and what I have going for me in the Games, and I can't help but show off, and strategize, ever so slowly, in my head, as the helpless dummy is reduced to shreds. I can tell the tributes are getting to Clove too. She keeps her aim with the knives, her grunts louder, her throws faster.

Soon enough Atala steps up in the center of the room, her chin tipped upwards, a sign of superiority. I put down the sword and wander over to where she is standing at a casual pace, Clove behind me, as the other tributes rush over quickly. Glimmer and Marvel are right behind us, just before Atala begins. I ignore her and continue to strategize, sizing up every tribute, and how long it will take to kill each one. My eyes sweep over the tributes from District 12 again, and I shiver. What it is about them that gets me, I'll never know. The brunette, Katniss is her name, catches my glance, and holds it. She looks fearful. I look away.


	5. Chapter 5: A Performance

**Hello everyone! I believe that I can say this story is officially off of hiatus. Thank you all for being incredibly patient in waiting for me to continue this story. Yes, this chapter is short and I'm not completely satisfied with it, but you all deserve a chapter for waiting so long. Thank you again for sticking with it. This also has yet to be beta'd, so feel free to correct all and any mistakes. Without further ado...**

_**[WARNING: There is sexual content in this chapter, towards the end. Skip it if you'd like. I'm keeping this story at a T, trying to keep any mature content as not-graphic as possible because to keep it that way, but know there is sex. Okay. Enjoy.]**_

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><p>Chapter 5: <strong>Clove<strong>

I slouch in my seat, my lips relaxing against each other in a pout. Cato sits next to me, his back ramrod straight, as if his spine was a made of focuses his eyes on a particular spot on the wall, taking even, steady breaths, deliberately blinking, with such force his whole face moved.

I sigh, forcing my breath upwards so it catches a strand of my hair and flutters it. The peacekeeper steps outside and signals for Glimmer. She stands, smoothing out an invisible skirt with trembling hands, and walks- no, _struts_- to the door, and disappears behind it without making a sound.

Minutes pass. I could tell Glimmer was nervous. About what? For who? Some thought in the back of my mind forced me to wonder how many other tributes were..._attracted_ to other tributes. If something was going on between any other tributes...

Marvel is called next. He seems more steady than Glimmer was. I don't notice in him leaving so much as it being my turn next.

Cato takes my hand from across the table and squeezes it. No other tributes seem to notice; they are either busying themselves with the food or squirming in their chairs, rehearsing strategies in their head. "Hey," he whispers, and I look at him. His eyes are locked on mine, narrowed, almost vicious. He is preparing himself; it even shows in his words. "Don't fuck this one up."

I give him an easy, pompous smile. He is not the only one preparing. "Darling, I would never."

"Good." He releases my hand, and returns to his former position: eyes fixed on the wall, spine straight.

Minutes tick by as Marvel's presentation continues. I imagine him showing off every skill he possesses: throwing weights, hurling spears, decimating a dummy with his bare hands. For the amount of time I've known him, Marvel has shown that he likes to brag. Today should be no different.

Finally, I am called to show off. Cato clears his throat, obviously trying to catch my attention, but I ignore him, strutting to the door with a sense of ease settling over me. Acting the part helped to calm my nerves; I was a career, after all. I could get a zero and still manage to rake in a few hundred sponsors, minimum.

The door closes behind me and I face five eager judges who will give me my score. They smile down at me, inviting me to be friendly with them. I scoff to myself. I don't need to make friends with the judges in order to score well.

I make my way over to the table of swords first, saving my best talents for last. Quickly, I shred a cloth dummy to bits, first poorly with a sword, then with hand to hand combat, which goes over better. It's when I begin to pull the soft filling of the dummy out, in a blind, adrenaline-fueled rage, that I hear one of the old men clear his throat uncomfortably. I've displayed enough ferocity; it's time to move on.

I glance at a rack of gleaming spears, as well as a silver bow and a sheath of metallic arrows, before deciding not to embarrass myself by pretending to have mastered such instruments. I gauge in all I have done thus far; considering my career status, and my display with the swords, I wager I've at least brought in a four. I skip the table of leaves and branches for shelter and pick up a few knives, along with a fresh dummy. Within a minute I've destroyed this doll as well, burrowing fifteen knives with pinpoint accuracy along separate body parts. I step back, barely breaking a sweat, and go to grab another rack of knives, but another cleared throat tells me I'm done with them.

_Fine, _I decide. _Have it your way._

I beam at each judge, giving a slight bow before sashaying across the metal floor, slamming the door behind me as I exit.

**Cato:**

The door slams shut behind me, sending a gust of wind my way, fluttering the bottoms of my pants such that my ankles show. I walk as quick as I can away from the training center, refusing Avoxes who attempt to hand me water, dry towels, even, at one point, a change of clothes. Eventually, I find the elevator, which is miraculously empty, and press level two, where I assume Clove is waiting for me.

Clove. How did she do? What was her score? Did she remember everything we had been taught during all of those years in District Two, not only how to fight, but how to act, how to fulfill the title of Career Tribute? I found myself worrying more about how well she did than recounting every second I spent in that terrible room, with five beady-eyed, plump judges stuffing their faces with cherry cake whilst pinpointing every move I made.

A quick ascent from the basement training center, the elevator dings when I've reached level two. I rush past the half-open doors and into our floor, which is apparently empty, save for the few Avoxes who are polishing the table. When they see me, they quickly recede out of sight, and I don't bother to tell them it's no matter.

As I continue farther into the room, I notice a bright blue envelope, with an intricate signature on the front that read, "To our lovely tributes:". I ripped the delicate envelope off of the letter inside, which was an almost holographic color that shimmered in the light. According to the glowing white ink that embellished this note, Celestine and Arven had gone out to lunch for the day. At the bottom of the envelope was a smaller note written on a stained napkin in a messy scrawl, and was explanation for Brutus and Enobaria's absence: mentor debriefing for the Games. I toss the notes aside and retreat back to my room.

I hear the shower running the closer I get to our bedrooms, and know Clove is in the bathroom, freshening up before meeting back with our mentors to discuss the outcome of our time with the Gamemakers, dinner with our stylists, and then the announcements of scores. I open my bedroom door to find the place neater than I left it.

Almost instantly I collapse on the bed, fighting off sleep. The shower turns off in the next room over. My eyelids slide close. I can hear Clove busying herself with the hair dryer, fussing over the set of clothes the Avoxes left out for her. The scent of lavender wafts in through the door, lulling me to the sleep I cannot seem to combat.

When I awake, not ten minutes later, Clove is next to me, running her hands through my hair, toying with each strand. She spots my open eyes, and grins, welcoming me awake. I can only grin before turning over to face her. She is wearing a turquoise blue blouse made of silk that ruffles up around her face. It reminds me of the lake we used to visit every day to meet each other after school. The lavender odor is in full force, as the only thing I can smell. Something soft brushes against the side of my face lightly, and turning my head I see the red bracelet on Clove's wrist, frayed and knotted.

"Hey," She beckons for me to turn back to her, and I obey, taking in every feature of her glowing face, lit by the late morning's sun which streams in through lofty curtains. "We've got the entire floor to ourselves." A small, barely noticeable wag of her dark eyebrows. She's hinting at something.

Oh. _Oh._ My mouth hints at a smile, which begins to show until it grows into a blatant, guiltless grin. "Yeah, we do, don't we?"

A small giggle escapes her brilliant lips. I echo her, and before our murmured laughs can turn to louder ones, her small, nimble hand lifts up my chin from underneath, and unexpectedly our lips touch. I welcome it. Her gentle fingers wrap into my hair and mercilessly grab hold. I smile underneath her eager teeth and hold her closer, savoring each detail of her body as if she dies tomorrow. I run my rough tongue across each of her smooth, white teeth. The smell and taste of peppermint is exchanged among the kiss, and I hold her closer, kiss her harder. I notice her skirt is off only when she goes to remove my shirt, which joins the rumpled skirt in the corner of the room. My breath is gone. The only words that seem to be able to come to my mind are her name. Quickly, she unzips the back of her blouse and I rip it off of her before she can reach to take it off. It gets tossed to the corner as well. Something swells up inside of me that I don't get the chance to put a name to; it's already been shoved away from the forefront by the time I can acknowledge it was ever there.

There she is. Save for a bra and some terribly small panties, she is there.

I can see a small inkling of hesitation creeping into her eyes as we pause. I can read her; in this moment she's an open book. She bites her lip, toys with her hair. Some of her light fades, the passion expressed just minutes ago fading fast. As if trying to stop a butterfly from flying away, I crush my lips to hers again, trying to catch it, trying to keep it here. Eventually I manage to pull her back in. It was her idea anyways, and I am not going to let her lead me on and then leave me hanging.

After some stalling she removes everything, and I follow suit. Life outside of my room seems to stop; time stops moving. We stayed in that bed for a while, kissing and moving together. I didn't feel particularly happy or sad. Relief, I suppose, is the only word to use. I might have enjoyed if it were a different time and place, but I couldn't bring myself to pretend to be happy when I could be dead within the week.

We finished quietly, and laid there for some time, safe in the knowledge that anyone of any terrible importance was gone for the day. Eventually Clove fell asleep in my arms, which made me question how much she had slept in the past nights. However tired I had been just an hour ago, however, I couldn't bring myself to join her. I stared at the ceiling, my arms around her small, dozing frame, thinking for the millionth time what lay ahead of us. I could only wonder what the other tributes had received for their training scores.

Now, it was just a waiting game.


End file.
